Sirens Son
by warwitch-18ca
Summary: It's just before sixth year begins and Harry wakes to find himself a new man and along with it he has a new past. To defeat Voldemort he must know his enemy, but he must also know himself, will live up to the task? Severitus Challenge.Reposted for the ple
1. Default Chapter

**AN/ Hello my old friends (ducks quickly behind a wall as a barrage of sharp pointy objects come flying at her) Okay, okay, I deserved that, my only excuse was that I am terribly lazy and foolish. After the release of the fifth book I became so disheartened with writing this story that I just gave up on updating it. Although I didn't enjoy the fifth book as much as the others I do respect the points that it had to get across. So I was left wondering how to edit the story to fit around Harry's fifth year and the fifth book while still telling the story I had envisioned. Well newsflash! Not possible! So after much deliberation I have decided to rewrite the whole story and set it in Harry's sixth year (let's just hope I finish it before the new book comes out)**

**To my faithful readers of the previous Sirens Son, never fear the story won't go too far away from the original. I will be keeping the parts that did not involve Harry's age or year, which is a lot, but I will be editing and rewriting the chapters so don't expect to read the same story as last time, especially since I have taken down the old Sirens Son. I have learned a lot about writing since I first wrote Sirens Son, I will be posting shorter chapters and my paragraphs won't be so long (that was really hard on the eyes wasn't it?) The shorter chapters will also enable me to post more frequently, so hooray for shorter chapters!**

**Now, onto the newest instalment of Sirens Son, edited and rewritten solely for your pleasure. Read, Review and Enjoy!**

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Chapter 1

It was night, a dark cloudless night that left the stars to shine brightly down upon the world from a backdrop of velvety black sky. The air was hot and humid, so humid it was almost wet making the grass dewy and slick. The weather, though slightly uncomfortable, was a welcome change from last years dry, unforgiving summer weather. The heat and humidity weighed down on everything and everyone lulling them into deep happy slumbers, everyone except one boy.

Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter tossed and turned in his sleep, tangling Aunt Petunias perfectly pressed white sheets around his ankles. Just like he always did when he slept.

But unlike most nights it wasn't horrific memories or terrifying dreams not even hellish visions too hard to block out that kept him tossing and turning. Tonight Harry's subconscious mind pulled him down into a world made only for pleasure.

The deep throated aching moans and groans that the Dursley's had come to ignore were not of pain or sorrow tonight but of unfulfilled desire and wants. Harry thrashed around some more but then a pair of elegant hands pulled him down into a deep and highly pleasurable dream world.

A soft pink/orange glow permeated the room, or wherever it was that Harry was. He was kneeling on something soft and comforting, a bed? Looking down Harry was shocked to see that not only was he kneeling on nothing but air, he also appeared to be wearing nothing but air as well.

Strange, he clearly recalled pulling on a pair of light cotton pyjamas, despite the balmy weather, before going to bed. Harry scratched his head in confusion with one hand while he groped around in the air for his glasses with the other, while also rubbing his flat stomach.

Wait, something wasn't right here, he was scratching his head, groping around for his glasses and rubbing his stomach? He seemed to be doing too many things with too few hands.

As he searched for an answer to this confusing dilemma another hand began rubbing his left shoulder, a distinctly _feminine_ hand. Another hand joined the other two this time on his right hip, another followed the third this time on his left thigh, and then another and another and another and another. Soon there were so many hands roving over Harry's body barely an inch of his own skin could be seen.

Totally taken aback by this strange occurrence Harry was at a complete loss at what to do. He supposed he should just allow the hands and whomever they belonged to continue, no harm in that and who was he too stop them really.

Harry relaxed and melted into his unseen captors capable hands allowing them to continue their leisurely stroking in hopes that they might show themselves. One by one they did just that, appearing gradually as though they came through a dense fog their faces came first followed by the rest of their bodies. Naturally they were all women, he hadn't really expected otherwise, and natural was probably the best way to describe these women and yet there was something particularly unnatural about them, something he couldn't quite grasp in this dream state.

There seemed to be a great diversity among them, they were of all ages, races, sizes and colouring, and yet alike by way of their natural beauty that needed no make-up or elaborate hairstyles or fancy clothes. They were a refreshing change from the kind of women Harry was used to seeing in the muggle world. But it wasn't their natural beauty that set them apart from most women; it was something entirely foreign almost exotic one might say and again Harry couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly that might be.

Harry also took quick notice of the fact that the women were just as naked as he was. And although this wasn't a sight out of place in his dreams, he was a teenage boy after all; the sight of these particular women affected him more so than the others. In his dream and in reality he became uncomfortably aroused, clammy, and short of breath.

The women smiled at him in a very strange way as though they sensed this, though it wasn't too hard to sense all one had to do was look down and they would know exactly how Harry was feeling, and seemed to take great pleasure in his current state. As one the women pressed in on Harry and began to rub him with their bodies as much as their hands.

They rubbed and rubbed and then rubbed some more, with each pass of their hands, legs, hair, arms, faces, lips and everything else in between Harry became more aroused he felt almost dizzy with it. The soft caresses soon turned forceful and uncomfortable, they raked their nails down his arms and torso and legs, they bit his neck and pulled his hair.

The mysterious women pressed in closer, so close that Harry could feel their hot panting breaths all over him while the sound of their heartbeats pounded in his ears. The room grew dark and took on a feral set of colours, acidic greens, dark purples and electric blue. The colours swirled around him and pulsated to the loud beating of his heart, which now kept course with the women's.

Harry clenched his teeth and fought the desire to cry out and push the women and their painful seduction from him. The paths they made with their sharp nails and teeth burned into his flesh, his head throbbed from their rough pulling of his hair and his body was slick with sweat and tense with unreleased desire.

But he did not cry out or push them away he let them continue, continue to drag him down into the depths of their world made electric blue, acidic greens and dark purples, of musky air, pounding drums and heated breath, of sharp nails and teeth, a world of blissful pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The day began as any other at number four Privet Drive, with the sun rising in a glorious display of bright orange and pink. Birds chirped happily in the trees, dew shone brightly on the well trimmed lawns and a gentle breeze wafted through the open windows of the neat little houses of Privet Drive. All in all it was a perfect summer's day, so very different from the parched summer before.

And also very different from last summer was Harry Potter, sixteen year old resident of number Four Privet Drive. Unlike last summer Harry was not anxiously waiting post man to deliver the morning paper so that he could read it before Uncle Vernon, nor was he pacing the length of his room anxiously waiting for an owl to deliver the Daily Prophet.

Quite the contrary, Harry lay peacefully on top of the light sheet on his bed, arms at his sides, palms facing up, eyes closed, chest rising and falling rhythmically as he drew in long relaxed breaths and then let out just as calmly as he'd drawn them in. It was a rather strange position for a teenage boy to find himself in on such a beautiful summer's day, but then Harry Potter was no ordinary boy.

Born to James and Lily Potter, a wizard and witch who had died to save him from Voldemort, the darkest wizard that had ever been. Afterwards he'd been left to live with his Aunt and Uncle, muggles who hated everything to do with magic, especially him. Because of their hatred of all things magic Harry had not known he was a wizard until that fateful night when Hagrid had brought him his first Hogwarts letter. And after that life had never been the same for Harry.

Finally finding a place where he truly belonged at Hogwarts had been the most satisfying thing in his life. Well perhaps with the exception of forming a friendship with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, two other Hogwarts students. They had been there for him through thick and thin, and probably would forever; at least he hoped they would.

Harry frowned and pushed the dark thought away as it sought to un-focus him. And he desperately needed to focus himself. Ever since his return to Privet Drive two weeks ago Harry had set to work on studying Occlumency, the art of guarding the mind against outside penetration. And if anyone needed to learn to guard their mind against outside forces it was him.

He had lost too much to Voldemorts mind meddling, his godfather Sirius, only one but one was one too many for Harry. He was determined not to be a pawn in Volodemorts plans and twisted games anymore. Now was the time for him to rise up and actively fight Voldemort.

Almost everyday he received a new book about Occlumency from Flourish and Blotts, it cost him a pretty knut too. He wrote to the owner the moment he got home and asked him to send him every book he had on Occlumency and then order anymore that weren't in stock. And who would have thought there would be so _many _books on the subject. But no matter Harry read them all religiously, cover to cover. It made him feel rather like Hermione.

There was so much to learn on the subject, more than Snape had ever taught him that was for sure, he thought bitterly. There was more to it than simply emptying the mind before bed or when someone performed legilimens on you. It took practice to empty your mind before sleeping, relaxing the body as well as the mind was of paramount importance. In order to do this Harry had also ordered books on meditation and relaxation, they were mostly muggle books that he picked up at the local library.

He practiced his technique day and night and every other moment he had in between. And he had a lot of time on his hands. Even though Voldemort had been revealed to the rest of the wizarding world, his world was depressingly uneventful. Just like last summer he had very little contact with anyone, even though he was bound to send a letter to a member of the order every few days, he still felt cut off from them. The frequent letters held very little information for security purposes, just run of the mill things. _'How are you?' 'Don't leave home at night' 'Can't say much in this letter'_ Nothing interesting or new.

Last summer these sort of responses probably would have angered him, and in truth they still did, but with practice he learned to control it. Learned to let the anger wash over him like a wave and then let it go with calm breathing. Controlling emotions and thoughts was all about breathing, breathing and a calm mind.

His thoughts were just as hard for him to control and calm as his often roiling emotions. There was so much to think about now, Voldemort had been revealed, Death Eaters had been caught, dementors were on the lose, giants aligned themselves with dark wizards, the ministry had voted Cornelius Fudge out of office and called an election for a new minister of magic. And he wondered constantly what the order was up to, what they knew about Voldemorts plans, what he was supposed to be doing.

What was he supposed to do? It was a question that had run rampant through his mind for weeks. Ever since that fateful morning in Professor Dumbledore's office, when Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy, _his_ prophecy. He wondered what he was supposed to do. How could he defeat Voldemort? Not even Dumbledore could and yet he was expected to do it or else let Voldemort win.

And he couldn't do that, no matter the challenge he couldn't let Voldemort win, he wouldn't let him win. Not ever.

For the time being his best course of action was to block Voldemort from his mind. And he had succeeded for the most part. Occasionally he felt the odd push at his mind that he'd never felt before, along with the usual pain in his scar. Sometimes it was more of a pull, Voldemorts emotions were probably pulling their minds together whenever he felt a strong emotion. But there were no more strange dreams, no more real life visions, all that was left now were his own thoughts and dreams.

His thoughts he was learning to contend with but his dreams were a totally different matter. All summer he kept reliving Sirius' death while he slept, how he had arched so gracefully before slowly falling through the veil. Or that moment when Hermione had been slashed across the chest by a Death Eaters curse, or the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort.

None of the books told him how to rid himself of nightmares or that not dreaming was even necessary to master Occlumency. All he knew was that he didn't want to see those things in his dreams anymore, where he couldn't control them.

Every night he would see these things in his dreams, and every time he woke sweating, panic stricken. He would slow his breathing, calm his mind and body, clear his mind and then go back to sleep. And then they would come back and he would be right back where he had started. It didn't make getting a good night's sleep very easy that was for sure.

But last night had been different, last night Harry was transported to a place he had never been in his dreams. A place of ultimate pleasure and blissful pain, a place where the scent of tasmin flowers and passion hung heavily in the air.

Harry smiled uncontrollably at the memory of the dream. It wasn't really a new experience, a wet dream, he was a teenage boy after all. But this one was completely different from the others, somehow it had felt almost real, as though the women had actually been there, touching him, kissing him, biting, scratching. He even felt strangely sore all over, like he had been running a race or something and even so he wasn't tired at all.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and let out a happy sigh, after so many miserable nights, last night had been a wonderful reprieve. He felt as though today was going to be different, better, well maybe not he was still at the Dursley's, but different.

And he was right.

Harry threw aside his tangled sheets and leapt out of bed, he gave a short moan as his aching muscles protested the movement but he paid it no mind, he was feeling rather frisky. He felt like he had so much energy bottled up inside him just waiting to get out. And yet his aching body continued to protest his movements. Perhaps he'd have a nice refreshing shower before he started the day.

Yes that was what he needed, a nice refreshing shower to start the day.

He marched to his door and threw it wide open and strode across the hall to the bathroom, not even bothering to check if Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia were about. He slammed the bathroom door behind him, maybe it would wake his cousin Dudley he thought maliciously. For unlike Harry, who was shunted out the door the moment Aunt Petunia woke, Dudley got to sleep in until noon or sometimes later.

The bathroom was blindingly white and clean, it took a while for Harry's eyes to adjust to the light. He winced against the pain and removed his pajamas with his eyes still shut. Blinking furiously he stumbled over to the shower and turned on the water and left it to heat up. He returned to the sink to brush his teeth and find a place for his glasses.

By the time he staggered back over to the counter his eyes had adjusted to the light and he could see again. He glanced at his reflection briefly before picking up his toothbrush; he froze in the act of putting paste on the bristles and slowly drew his gaze back up to the mirror.

The reflection that greeted him there was very different then the one he remembered seeing just last night.

And the moment that it registered in Harry's mind that it was actually him starring back from the mirror…he fainted.

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**Authors Note: Yes I know it's been too long, but my interest with Harry Potter seems to come and go. I just updated my other story so I guess you could say that I was in a writing mood. I'm sorry it's late, and that it's a cliffhanger. I do have the next chapter ready in my mind and will get to work on it right away.**

**Love**

**War**


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note:** Wow another new chapter in one day, I must be on a roll. But to be fair I haven't updated this story in ages so I guess it's only fair that I post few new chapters. Plus shorter chapters mean faster posting. Well as always Read, and please, please Review, and most importantly Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

"Come on! Quick, before someone sees!" Hissed a mans voice.

"Oh will you shut up!" Hissed another, this time a woman's and she sounded very bored. "They're not going to see us, they're muggles."

"And lazy muggles at that," Whispered a second slightly frantic sounding woman. "They never get up until at least eight in the morning."

"Not the woman," chimed in another woman, though she sounded much calmer than the others. "She's always up early cooking and cleaning. Don't know why, this place could do with a bit of mess and that son of hers needs feeding like I need a splinter in my butt."

Someone snickered and was promptly shushed into silence.

"Let's just quit arguing and get to work all right?" said the man.

The others nodded in agreement. Silently and unseen the small group crept over the back hedges of Number Four Privet Drive and approached the neat little house. The back door was locked but that was swiftly dealt with an alohomora spell and they were in.

They wasted no time looking about the sterile muggle home and went straight through to the front room. The discordant sound of someone humming off key reached they're ears as they approached the stairs. As one they flattened themselves against the wall.

Petunia Dursley stepped down off the final creaking stair and rounded the corner and bustle off into the kitchen. Someone snorted quietly, another shook their head as Petunia disappeared into the kitchen seemingly unaware that there four people flattened against her pristine wall.

To be fair all four people were disillusioned, but even a muggle could see through a disillusion charm if they tried. Fortunately for their group this particular muggle wasn't very observant.

"Come on," Whispered the man, he was closest to the stairs "And be careful of that first step it creaks."

The others nodded and followed him, careful to skip the bottom stair lest they alert someone to their presence. Once on the landing they all looked cautiously about, all the doors were closed save for one. They looked uneasily at each other and approached the doorway.

There was no one inside the smallest bedroom.

"Where is he?" asked the frantic woman "We didn't see him leave the house."

"Calm down, he's in the shower" said the bored woman an equally bored voice, not even bothering to whisper.

"Will you be quiet!" hissed the frantic one.

"Pfft!" the bored woman snickered waving a dismissive hand "No ones going to here us over that racket."

That racket, being the thunderous snores coming from the room next to the smallest one and its enormous occupant.

"It's locked," said the man, he had tip toed over to the bathroom where it did indeed seem as though someone was showering. "Alohomora!"

The locked clicked and the door creaked open a sliver before it hit something very solid.

The man peered in and turned back quickly to the others. "He's fainted!"

The others rushed over in a flurry of shuffled footsteps, they glanced up and down the landing again and carefully squeezed into the bathroom one by one, careful not to tread on the unconscious boy. The door closed silently behind them and the lock clicked back into place.

As one the group bent over the boy, the frantic sounding woman kneeled at his side and put her hand to his forehead.

"Do you think he's all right?" She asked now taking his pulse "What if we got here too late? What if the fevers taken him? What if-"

"The fever hasn't taken him" Said the calm woman slowly as she observed the boy "He would be in a much worse state if it had."

"She's right" agreed the man who had entered first "And we should be thankful he did faint, if he hadn't we'd have a lot more work to do here. No thanks to someone who just had to hold us up!"

The drawling woman leaned against the counter shrugged and went about inspecting her disillusioned nails.

"Never mind, help me sit him up." The man ordered the frantic woman, together they pulled the lanky teen up into a sitting position. The boys head lolled backwards and hit the wall with a slight thump.

"Careful," the frantic woman admonished.

The man stood and went to the calm woman's side "Well" he said in an expectant voice gesturing to the still unconscious boy.

The woman stared at the boy, he looked so peaceful, she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him that way. His life had gotten so difficult these past two years, and she worried for him so. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, his cheeks were sunken as usual, and his skin was pale as usual. But everything was not as it usually as it appeared; he had changed literally overnight, changed into something that he would never see again.

It saddened her to see him go, to have to change him back, it had been so long since she'd seen him, the real him. But she had gotten used to and grown to love the new him as well, and besides changing him back was for his own good.

"Well" The man repeated.

"Yes" said the woman in a distracted voice and then more clearly "Yes, right. Here we go."

Seemingly from no where a wand appeared and pointed itself at the unconscious form of Harry Potter. "Facadieo!"

A flash of bright purple light shot from the end of the wand and hit Harry straight in the chest. Almost at once the light spread outwards from its point of impact until Harry was glowing bright purple all over.

"Quick, the potion!" said the woman, she kept her wand aimed at Harry and held it tightly with both hands. A beam of purple light flowed from its end, reinforcing the spell on Harry.

The drawling woman pulled a small vial from her pocket and tossed it to the frantic woman still kneeling next to Harry. She uncorked it and tipped the contents down Harry's open mouth and then held it firmly shut to make him swallow.

Harry coughed and for a moment it seemed as though he had woken but then his head fell back onto shoulders limply. The light surrounding him went from purple to gray and then collapsed in on itself, disappearing into his chest.

The group leaned in expectantly over the boy, even the bored woman could not stop herself from watching the spell do its work.

"It's done." Said the woman who had performed the spell, there was a slightly sad note to her voice as she observed her handy work.

"It's for the best" The bored woman said kindly, placing a hand on the others shoulder.

"But the spots, they're still there." Said the frantic woman, frantically.

"Can't change biology, love" chuckled the man.

They all watched the boy silently for a bit longer.

"Well come on, we can't stay here." Ordered the bored woman as she was the first to regain her composure, "We finished our task."

"Yes," agreed the calm woman distractedly.

And one by one the disillusioned group slipped out of the bathroom, down the stairs, through the kitchen, past a completely oblivious Petunia, out the back door, and over the garden hedges where they had started. Together they raised their wands discreetly

"Silencio."

And with a muffled crack they disappeared.

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**Authors note: Yes I know it's short but I'm just getting started. Don't worry things will start to reveal themselves soon enough.**

**Love**

**War**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**A/N: I'm very sorry this took so long. Please read, review and enjoy! (Expecially review let me know what you think of this long awaited installment)**

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Harry woke slowly and painfully. Something was wrong with his head, it was pounding and pounding, and rattling.

Rattling?

"Harry! Harry, open the door!" Harry's Aunt screeched like a wet hen.

Open the door? Why didn't she open it herself, his bedroom door locked from the outside, she didn't need him to open it for her.

"I'll not have you driving up my water bill like this boy! Get out of there at once!" His Uncle Vernon chimed in.

Water, what water? Then he heard it, the hiss of steam billowing around him and the splattering of water hitting the pristine tiles of the upstairs shower floor. He was in the bathroom, he'd been about to take a shower. Then why was he sprawled out on the floor?

His eyes widened as he recalled what had happened. His hands and feet squeaked on the tiles as he scrambled to find a foothold on the slick floor.

"What are you doing in there boy!" Uncle Vernon pounded his meaty fist on the door making it rattle and wobble in its frame "You'd better not be doing m-magic in there!"

"Vernon the neighbors!" Petunia hissed despite the fact they were on the second story and inside the house no less.

Harry wasn't listening to them, he'd grabbed the sinks edge and pulled himself up to face what he sincerely hoped had been an illusion. Fog covered the glass, obscuring and blurring his image. With a shaking hand Harry wiped the mirror clean, he shut his eyes tight for a moment, bracing himself for the horror that might greet him.

Slowly, lash by lash, he opened his eyes and faced his reflection. Him, Harry James Potter stared back at him from the glass and yet, he was different. Spots, he was covered in spots.

Great dark brown, fat half circles that started at his temples and went down both sides of his face to his neck and then split at his shoulders in two, one went curling around his arms right down to the tip of his middle finger. The other went spiraling down his torso, criss-crossing around him all the way down- down…and then separated again to curl around his legs, just as they had on his arms, right down to his toes.

Carefully he prodded one of the spots on his left arm, he instantly regretted the action as his skin went up in flames. Harry cried out and collapsed onto his knees, he cradled his arm close to his chest. The heat lessened to a bearable rate, but instead of fading the heat spread through his body, or rather through the spots. The heat jumped from spot to spot until every spot was enflamed, for a moment they turned a deeper brown, almost black color and Harry thought he might faint from the heat.

Soon, or what seemed like an eternity to Harry, the flames licking at his skin went out and he was able to breath again.

What was this? What were these spots? And why, why did these things always, always happen to him? And when these things always happened why did he always have to be at the Dursley's? Why couldn't these things happen when he was alone somewhere?

"That does it; I'm braking down the door!"

But before Vernon could attempt to fling his flabby body at the bathroom door it was flung open. Harry was naked and incensed when he greeted his Uncle in the bathroom doorway.

"What!" He snapped, and just as if he'd been a dog snapping its jaws at a passing mailman the Dursley's jumped back in terror. Their terror turned immediately to horror as their eyes landed on the spots covering Harry's body.

"Well?" They said nothing, apparently too frightened to speak. Absolutely frustrated and strangely satisfied Harry slammed the door in their faces.

The muffled silence of the bathroom was calming to his racing thoughts. Something was wrong with him; he had contracted some sort of magical disease. Yes, that explained everything, the spots, the burning sensation and that strange vision he had this morning. But how had he gotten it? What was it? And most importantly, how did he get rid of it?

And he had to get rid of it, Dumbledore had sent him a letter to let him know that he was coming to visit with him, to take him to the Burrow and that he wanted his help with some sort of task. This was his chance to prove to Dumbledore that he could handle fighting the dark side. He couldn't afford to be sick with some magical thing right now, he had to fix this and fast, but how?

It was Monday and Dumbledore said he would be here by Friday night; he still had plenty of time. He just had to figure out how to diagnose and cure a magical disease, oh that would be easy!

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, what was he going to do? He wasn't smart like Hermione and hadn't grown up in the wizarding world like Ron; he didn't know anything about this. He would just have to find someone who did know things about magical illnesses.

Leaving the water running Harry scooped his towel up off the floor and wrapped it around his waist. He viewed his reflection curiously, now where was he going to find someone to cure this…thing?

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The dull, deserted department store window loomed eerily over Harry in the streetlight. St Mungo's secret entrance was strange looking enough in broad daylight, what with its half dressed manikins and crooked closed for refurbishment sign. But now illuminated only by the flickering streetlights it was downright sinister looking.

No wonder the ministry had stationed it here, now in the deep, night people hurried past the dark abandoned store whispering things to themselves and their companions.

"Who would want to go in there, even if it was open?" Some woman whispered to her friend as they sped past.

Who indeed.

As frightening as it was, Harry was immeasurably glad that no one stopped at the storefront. If they had, they might have noticed the suspicious looking youth sporting a dark brown jumper with its hood up, concealing most of his face.

The hood managed to conceal his face as well as the strange spots, and the large pocket in the front hid his wand from view, he'd kept a tight hold on it ever since he left Privet Drive. And lastly in the threadbare rucksack that he'd been using since he was nine contained his father's invisibility cloak that he'd used to get out of the house..

Dumbledore had people watching him last year, this year was sure to be no different. Harry only hoped that no one had followed him, if Dumbledore got wind of this strange disease he wasn't likely to take him on any sort of quest.

Harry also dearly hoped that he hadn't been spotted by any of Voldemorts henchmen, the last thing he needed now was to duel with a bunch of death eaters in the middle of London. He'd be glad to get inside St Mungo's; at least he'd be a little safer in there.

Reports of Voldemorts work was now splashed all over the Prophet every morning. He read every report, even the smallest articles, avoiding last years blunder of only reading the headlines. In truth he was getting a little sick of hearing about people dying or going missing.

All the more reason for him to get going. Harry was determined to help Dumbledore destroy Voldemort and his death eaters. And he couldn't do that if he were sick with some strange magical disease.

Harry straightened his shoulders in determination and approached the dirty window.

"Uh, hello." He said uncertainly, unsure of how to proceed now that he was here, or if the hospital would even be open at this hour.

A manikin with its eyelashes falling off cocked her head at him.

"I'm here to…" what did he say? He couldn't say his name, someone could be watching, and how do you explain to a manikin that you sprouted spots overnight?

"I'm here to see a doctor" He said quickly, then corrected himself "I mean a healer, a healer. I need to see a healer."

The manikin seemed to ponder this for a moment, then crooked its finger at him.

Harry looked left and then right checking to make sure that no one was watching, then took the plunge through the window.

Bright fluorescent lights assaulted Harry's eyes as he stepped into the waiting room. He pulled the hood of his jumper down lower over his eyes to shield himself from the lights.

As his vision cleared the sounds of the waiting room hit him. The hospital was apparently just as busy in the middle of the night as it was during the day.

People with things like teapots, brooms or plants attacking them, extra limbs growing out of the most uncomfortable places and strange ticks, littered the waiting room.

Harry joined the line for the front help desk, standing behind a man sporting a very large bloom of pink petunias growing from his ears. He pulled down his hood a bit more and prayed that he wouldn't have to wait long to see a healer.

The bored looking medi-nurse at the desk sent the man with the petunias to the Spell Damage ward on the fourth floor, and Harry approached the desk.

"Name?" The witch asked without looking up from her magazine.

Harry cleared his throat nervously and tugged on his hood again. "Uh, do I have to give my name?"

The witch sighed and rolled her eyes "A right of patient confidentiality is invoked for all those who enter St. Mungo's for treatment. Names, financial status and the physical state of all patients will be kept strictly secret." She went back to her magazine seemingly non-plussed by his appearance or question.

Harry was greatly relieved by this information but refused to lower his hood.

"Name?" She repeated.

"Uh, Harry," Harry leaned in close to the glass, giving his last name was sure to get undo attention, confidentially agreement or not "Harry Evans."

The witch scribbled his name down on a roll of parchment on a clipboard "Magical malady or injury?"

"Uh," He said at a loss looking down at himself "I've got these spots."

"Potion induced?"

"Uh, no"

"Allergic reaction? Animal bite? Jinx? Mis-cast spell? Curse?"

"Uh, I don't think so, they just cropped up overnight." Now that he thought of it the whole thing was rather strange. Maybe he should have just gone to Dumbledore with this instead. No matter, he was here now might as well see it through to the end.

The witch behind the counter hmmed and crossed out the boxes on the parchment. She glanced up at him and flung the clipboard over the counter along with a self inking quill. "Take this and proceed to the second floor for Magical Bugs, fill everything out and a healer will diagnose you. Next!"

Harry jumped and hastily stepped out of the way as a woman chasing a tail she'd sprouted spun towards the help desk.

A sign above two swinging doors guided him to a lift down a few hallways. There was no one on the way up to the second floor. But he still felt uneasy, as though someone was watching him. Which was ridiculous, there wasn't even anyone around.

The medical parchment kept him busy on the exceedingly slow lift ride. It was a very detailed form. There was the usual stuff, name, age, address, previous magical medical history. Then there were the questions that he himself was asking.

Please state the nature of your magical malady: He left this blank since he didn't know what was wrong with him.

Please list symptoms: Large spots all over body. Burning sensations.

Harry refused to put down the fact that following the burning sensations came a wave of almost unbearable arousal. He supposed that the baggy hand-me-downs of Dudley's were finally useful, as they managed to hide that state of arousal. He also refrained from mentioning what had to have been hallucination that he'd experienced this morning, it was probably just nothing maybe even the result of a fever.

Please list all spells cast by you or someone in your presence in the last twenty-four hours: None.

Please list all potions drunk within the last twenty-four hours: None.

Please list all magical and non-magical creatures you have come into contact with in the last twenty-four hours. None.

If you believe that you have been purposefully cursed, bewitched, or poisoned please list by whom and why, and a report will be sent to Ministry authorities. Harry almost laughed at this, he could think of about a dozen people who would want to poison or curse him. But he didn't think putting Voldemort on his chart would go over too well, so he left this blank as. It did make him wonder though, what if this had been done to him on purpose?

The lift dinged as he finally reached the second floor. He stepped through the doors just before they closed on him, slow lift fast doors. He entered into another waiting room with another help desk at the end of it. Except this time there were no other patients in this waiting room, for which he was very gratefully.

Behind a glass window at the help desk was a much more pleasant looking witch, she was blond and very tan. Harry shuddered as a wave of heat shot through his spots. He turned away from the pretty blond witch and clutched his chest trying to catch his breath and still his raging erection.

"May I help you?" The witch asked with concern.

Harry took a deep breath and whirled about, handing over the clipboard and quill quickly without looking at her.

After a moment the witch said "Please take a seat over there and a healer will be out to see you shortly."

Harry nodded jerkily and practically ran to the seat furthest away from the help desk. The witch glanced back at him strangely before disappearing with his forms.

With a odd deflating sensation Harry relaxed back into the vinyl chair. He could only hope that the healer wouldn't be a woman. It seemed that every woman that he'd encountered had peeked his sexual interest, even, most horrifyingly, his boney Aunt Petunia.

"Mr. Evans?" The witch had come back, she was standing at a side door now, giving him ample view of her lithe figure.

Harry looked around then jumped as he realized that she was talking to him. He pulled his hood down again and nodded a bit.

"A healer will see you now." Said the witch, she stood aside for him to walk through the open door "Third door on the left."

Tearing his eyes away from her retreating backside Harry hurried into the examination room. It looked like a muggle exam room, sterile table, shining sink. But instead of tongue depressors and eye charts there were little doodads and thingamabobs. There was even a simmering cauldron in the corner. The fumes it gave off smelled distantly of wet cotton balls and mint. There was also a rather gruesome painting of a healer curing a man with some sort of pox on the wall. He was just reading the capture underneath when the door opened.

A rather tired, grey looking wizard came in, reading over the forms Harry had just filled out. He pointed to the examination table without looking up, indicating that he should sit.

Harry hopped up onto the table and watched the healer frown down at the form.

"I'm Healer Tonsure" He said, slipping the clipboard under his arm and finally looking at Harry. "So, Mr. Evans what seems to be the problem? It says on your chart that you've broken out in spots of some sort, well let me have a look at you."

Harry grudgingly removed his hood and knew at once that this was going to be a long night. Tonsure's eye's widened, going from his face up to his scar and then to his spots.

Tonsure took a surprised step backward and Harry cut him off before he could ask "Yes I'm Harry Potter, and no I don't know what's wrong with me, I just woke up like this." Tonsure's eyes darted to the clipboard "I know that there's a right of confidentiality but I have to take precautions. No one can know I'm here or that I was here, or why I would be here."

Tonsure opened his mouth but was yet again cut off. "You will keep this quiet won't you? Because if you can't…" Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket so that just the handle showed and let the threat hang in the air. An empty threat at that, he couldn't risk getting in trouble for underage magic now, but he couldn't risk being discovered here either.

Tonsure straightened his robes in a dignified sort of way, almost like a bird ruffling its feathers, cleared his throat and said "Mr. Potter I assure you that the right to confidential treatment extends to all of our patients. Even to the Chosen One."

Harry flinched at the ridiculous, and yet accurate, moniker that the Prophet had bestowed on him.

"All right then." He said pocketing his wand.

"So," Tonsure said finally, folding his hands in front of him. "Tell me about these spots of yours."

"They just showed up overnight" Harry said quickly, glancing down at the spots apprehensively. "I don't know how they got there. I didn't do anything the night before, no spells, no potions, I didn't get bitten and I don't have any weird cursed objects."

"Mmmmhmm." Tonsure scribbled something on Harry's chart and then leaned in for a closer look "And how do you feel? Nauseous? Headaches? Dizzy? Feverish?"

"I feel fine, except that whenever I touch one of these stupid spots they start to burn, and…" Harry trailed off, his mind wandering off to the pretty nurse just outside.

"And?" Tonsure prompted.

"And I seem to get-to get" Harry took a deep breath and then went on as quickly as he could "To get aroused by every woman I see."

"Aroused?" Tonsure lifted his eyebrows in an almost amused manner, Harry did not appreciate this.

"It's horrible!" He near shouted, "I even caught myself giving my Aunt Petunia the eye this morning."

"Well," Tonsure hid a grin by scribbling some more on his chart "Well, lets think now."

After composing himself, Tonsure set Harry's chart down on a nearby counter and stepped up to the exam table. He turned Harry's head this way and that with his hands, made him open his mouth and say ahhh. He rolled up his jumper sleeve to look at his arm and take his pulse

"Now you said these spots are everywhere Harry?"

"Yes."

"Do they split from your arms and then criss-cross down your torso and then split again and go down your legs?"

"Yes!" Harry breathed in relief, Tonsure looked and sounded as though he knew what was going on "What does it mean? What's wrong with me?"

"Oh there's nothing wrong with you my boy, well not really" Tonsure slapped him on the back jovially "You're not sick. You're a Siren."

* * *

**AN**: I can't even begin to apologize for how long this took. Well I did promise to put up a new chapter on my yahoo group a while a go so at least I stayed true to that. Well, we've finally started moving along, and we'll keep going a I promise, I've sort of lost track of my other story so now I can devote some much need time to this one. Well I hope you enjoyed it and I'll see you next chapter.

Cheers

War


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